(this essay is part of a series entitled Adventures in Mishnah with My Kids. To subscribe, see weblink below)

Last week when we made havdalah, the candle suddenly burned out just as we were reciting the blessing about the Creator of fire. We hastily lit two matches and held them together to replace the candle, which, we discovered a short while later, had not been furnished with long enough wicks; the bottom third of the candle was all wax and no wick. We were prepared to throw the candle away, but Matan—the scientist in our family—assured us that he could refurbish the candle by boring out a narrow hole and filling it with a match. That evening, proud of his pyrotechnic prowess, Matan read in bed by the light of our de-commissioned Havdalah candle. 

When I came into his room to learn a mishnah that evening, he pleaded with me to first finish the Harry Potter chapter he was in the middle of reading. And so I obliged, reading to him about Harry’s al fresco dinner with the Weasley family, during which Mrs. Weasley magically conjures candles to light the darkening garden so that everyone can finish their strawberry ice cream. “See? They use candles too,” Matan points out to me—he is upset that I insisted that he also turn on his reading lamp because, as I told him, a havdalah candle really doesn’t provide enough light for reading.  

As it turned out, the mishnah we learned that night was about reading by the light of a candle, though in the times of the Mishnah, a candle was more of an oil lamp. The Mishnah (1:3) teaches that a person may not read by candlelight on Shabbat, out of a concern that he might tilt the lamp to add more oil to the wick, which is like lighting a fire on Shabbat. The Talmud (Shabbat 12b) tells a story about Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha, who proclaimed that he could read by candlelight on Shabbat because he would make sure not to tilt the lamp. But once it happened that while he was reading, he needed more light and he unthinkingly tilted the lamp. Humbled, he declared, “How great are the words of the sages, who said not to read by candlelight!” Another sage adds that after realizing his error, Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha recorded his regret and his resolution on a wax tablet: “I, Ishmael ben Elisha, read and tilted a candle on Shabbat. When the Temple is rebuilt, I shall bring a sin offering.” 

“After we finish this Mishnah, I want to keep reading by candlelight,” Matan tells me. I warn him that it’s dangerous – what if he falls asleep with the candle still burning? “I won’t fall asleep, I’m sure of it,” he tells me, and I remind him of Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha’s overconfident self-assurance. God forbid an accident should happen, I warn him, trying not to think of Bertha Rochester in Jane Eyre. “I don’t want you to regret it and say, ‘How great are the words of my mother, who said not to read by candlelight!” 

In the continuation of the mishnah, we learn that school children are permitted to read by candlelight on Shabbat if they are sitting and studying with their teacher, because their teacher will make sure they don’t tilt the candle. The Babylonian Talmud explains that the fear instilled by their teacher will prevent them from tilting inadvertently. The Palestinian Talmud offers a different explanation: There is no concern that the students will tilt the candle because they want it to go out anyway, so that they can get a break from their studies. Matan can understand that. “If I were doing my math homework by candlelight, I’d be really happy if the candle went out. But if I’m reading Harry Potter, then yeah, I might tilt the candle to get more light.”  

Before I leave Matan’s bedroom that evening, I make sure to take the candle with me. “How do you know I won’t conjure a candle after you leave?” he asks me. I tell him that he had better not conjure a candle on Shabbat, because it would definitely be muktzeh – if the candle didn’t even exist before Shabbat, it would fall into the category of nolad—something born or created on Shabbat which therefore could not possibly have been designated in advance for use on Shabbat before Shabbat. “In any case, don’t conjure any candles in your bedroom at night – it’s too dangerous,” I warn him, taking the magic wand from his nightstand, where he’s kept it ever since he began reading Harry Potter. Fortunately Matan is much better at science than at magic, but I’m not taking any chances.

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